Crime Pays
by chillbook1
Summary: Twilight Sparkle, also known as Medusa, is a hardened criminal mastermind, and the leader of what was formerly the most feared band of criminals in all of Equestria. That was years ago. Now, her crew is in shambles, and she looks to two-bit thug Rainbow Dash to bring it back to its former glory. With Twilight's genius and experience, combined with some fresh blood, the Mythos Crew
1. The Jewelry Store

"Yo, Twi. I'm in position."

"Good. Remember what I taught you?"

"Duh. I'm not stupid, ya know."

"True. But I thought you might've been high when we were planning."

Heists don't just happen. That was my basic motto when it came to knocking a place over. Over the past month, I had repeated it several times to my new student, who seemed quite eager to get her hands dirty. It was one of the few reasons I bothered teaching Rainbow Dash; She was willing and eager. Spike thought she might've been a bit too green for this sort of work, and I was inclined to agree, but I knew she could shape up with enough time.

"Well, she's not now," said Spike. "Give her a chance to screw the pooch before you get on her case, alright?"

"I never said she was high now," I said. "But it wouldn't surprise me." I tapped my earpiece twice, out of habit. "What do you see, Spike?"

"I've got… three guards, one by the front door, one by the side entrance, and one out back," he reported.

"I got one over here, too," said Rainbow. "On the other side of the building."

"Good. We need the outside guards dealt with," I said. I could hear her gulp through my earpiece.

"You mean… Like… Kill him?"

"Not if you can avoid it," I sighed tiredly. I'd said it many times before today, but that girl never seemed to retain any information that didn't immediately lead to cocaine. "I gave you that taser for a reason."

"What about you, Twi? You ready to move in?" asked Spike. I turned slightly, my gaze lingering on him across the street for just a second. I nodded slightly, and he moved forward, then turned right down the street.

"Dash. Get ready," I ordered.

"Always ready, old timer."

"I'm thirty-one."

"Yeah, I know. Old timer." Rainbow had a bit of a snicker in her voice at all times, which was the reason I both hated and enjoyed her company.

"Remember, this job will make or break your career," I reminded Rainbow. "Throw this away, and we're all going in for it. If I go to jail because of you, I will make sure that we end up cellmates, and I will not be very happy."

"Yeah, yeah, just try to keep up, old timer."

I sighed. She really was hopeless.

"Alright, guys. We don't leave there without twenty grand worth of jewelry," I reminded them. "And try your hardest not to hurt anyone, okay? Cleaning is way more expensive than you might think. We good to go?"

"In the van and waiting," said Spike.

"Let's get paid, damnit!" said Dash excitedly. I rolled my eyes, smirking slightly in spite of myself.

"Alright, gang. Let's move out."

I grabbed my duffel bag from the ground and slung it over my shoulder. I left my alley and headed across the street to my mark, La Princessa Espumunda, then slipped into the alley between the jewelry store and the building to its left. I walked forward, towards a security guard. Before I got too close, he began to spasm in pain, dropping to the ground after a few seconds.

Rainbow Dash slipped her taser back into its holster, grinning as she did. She looked comfortable in her new suit. It was a simple, black two piece with a navy blue tie. She looked good. Professional. Like she belonged in the Mythos Crew.

"Ready?" I asked. I grabbed the unconscious guard by the wrist and dragged him to the back as Rainbow followed. She popped open a dumpster and helped me drop him into it, on top of his two friends that Dash had knocked out a little earlier. She grabbed her duffel bag from the side of the dumpster and zipped it open. I dropped mine and did the same, pulling out my handgun, a Colt 1911, and my AK-47. Finally, I pulled out a small stun gun and tucked it into my pants. I loaded up my rifle, flipped on the safety, and slung its strap over my shoulder. I slipped a mag into my pistol and holstered it on my hip. Then, I reached into my almost-empty bag to get my favorite piece of gear.

I always gravitated towards the eyes of my mask, appropriately. They were made out of what was essentially one-way glass, tinted bright yellow on the outside with black slits for pupils. The majority of the face was a light green material that resembled a snake's underbelly, which was also appropriate. It had a sinister grin on its face, showing off a mouth of razor-sharp teeth. Several snakes stood at the top, standing high enough to obscure my horn and acting as the final details of The Gorgon. I slipped the modified hockey mask onto my face, grinning as I did.

"Let's move," I said to Dash, who had also masked up. It was called The Griffon, decorated to have gorgeous white feathers that melded into golden-brown fur near the neck. A golden, hooked beak protruded from her face, turning the pegasus into the much rarer griffon.

"I'll take point," I said. "And you can do the honors." I imagine that she grinned from behind her mask, cocked her gun, and followed me to the side entrance. We slipped in, through the manager's office and turned right down the short hallway to the actual shop.

Two rows of three glass cases, each filled with bracelets, pendants, watches, and rings, lined the middle of the room. Each wall to the side held gold and diamond necklaces, and the occasional ring. Only a handful of people were in the shop. Six, according to my quick count, and that included the clerk and the last guard.

Too easy.

"Hit the goddamn ground, people!" shouted Dash. I drew my stun gun and fired it at the guards chest, dropping him to the ground after a few electrifying seconds. I dropped it and gripped my assault rifle, brandishing it in the direction of my new, screaming, terrified hostages.

"Alright, folks, some of you might be feeling a bit brave," I said. "You can either be brave or alive, okay? We're going to need your phones, so please and thank you, pull them out and slide them to the middle of the floor."

"I want your wallets, watches, rings, necklaces, anything that's worth something," said Dash. That was not a part of the plan, but I was pleasantly surprised that she even considered robbing the customers as well. Our hostages, one by one, pulled out their phones and valuables, tossing them into a pile in the middle of the floor. I looted the clerk from behind the counter then, after a moment of thought, pulled a zip-tie from my breast pocket.

"Sorry, but I've had too many jobs go to hell because of jumpy cashiers," I said as I bound her wrists. "Apollo! Bag up!"

Rainbow gleefully used the stock of her rifle to smash each of the glass cases, filling her bag with the jewelry they contained. I couldn't be certain from where I stood, but I guessed that each case was about three grand's worth of jewelry. That'd give us just about our goal, and that wasn't even factoring in the profit from the patrons' stuff, or the loose necklaces on the shelves. I went about bagging those up, keeping an ear out for Spike.

"Alright, you guys can leave whenever," he said, right on cue. "Nobody has called the cops just yet, but people are bound to notice soon."

"Apollo, we good?" I asked. I turned to see my pupil practically wrestling with some lady, who was crying, sniffling, and begging Dash to stop.

"She won't give up the damned necklace!" grunted Dash.

"P-please! My husband's ashes—" She might've said more, were it not for Dash elbowing her in the head.

"Hey, newbie, knock it off! You wanna get us caught over $250?" I asked. "We got what we came for, so grab your bag and let's F.O."

"But T-" She shook her head. "Medusa!"

"Let it go!"

Dash grumbled slightly, but let the lady go. She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. I grabbed my bag and ran to the front with Dash just behind me. Just before we could make it out of the front door, I heard a very familiar word that I both loved and hated.

"Freeze!"

I turned slowly, my hands in the air to see one of the guards Dash had knocked out, aiming his sidearm at us. I made no attempt to react, because I had a plan for this scenario.

Dash didn't know this, aimed her rifle, and fired three shots at the poor guy's head. The bullets bounced off, knocking him onto his butt, which let me begrudgingly finish him off with a few shots of my own. The guard now unconscious, me and Dash ran out.

"Thank you for your cooperation!" I called over my shoulder, giggling slightly to myself. We hauled it down the block, attracting looks of concern and even getting a few Canterlot citizens to use their phones to call the police. Not that it mattered. The Chariot was just around the corner.

The van's back doors were open for us, and we wasted no time in jumping in. I closed the door and punched the ceiling twice. Spike hit the gas and barreled down the street. I pulled off my mask and grinned.

"Nice work, people," I said. "The Mythos Crew is back in business!"

"You asshole!" shouted Dash. "You loaded my gun with rubber bullets?!"

"It's your first job. Be thankful you got a gun at all," I said. I threw down my weapon, still smirking in satisfaction. "How are we, Spike?"

"In the green. We'll cruise around for a bit, then head back to the safehouse," said Spike. "You did fine out there, ladies."

"Were you listening in there, Spike?" I scoffed. "That was a mess. Dash tried to steal some lady's dead husband's ashes, and she shot at a guard."

"With rubber bullets," Rainbow reminded us.

"You didn't know that. In your mind, you made the decision to murder that guy, which is a problem." I punched her shoulder gently. "What is murder, Ms. Dash?"

"Murder is bad for business," droned Dash. "You know, for bank robbers, you guys sure do have a lot of rules."

"Rules are what kept me in the business for thirty years," I said.

"I thought you said you were thirty-one."

"Alright, so maybe I fibbed," I snickered. "But you should know better than to ask a lady her age."

"No offense, Twi, but you're not exactly what I'd describe as a 'lady'," said Spike. "Criminal mastermind? Sure. Genius? Without doubt. Certified boss? Absolutely. But lady? Nah, that's just not you."

"Oh, shut up and drive, little boy," I said humorously.

"Isn't he your age?" asked Dash angrily. "Or was that a lie, too?"

"Technically, I'm forty-six years," said Spike. "But in dragon terms, I'm actually younger than you."

"Still not a fan of how much you guys like to lie to me," grumbled Dash. "I thought you were a businesswoman. Is that how you do business?"

"When my quote unquote business partner is a dopehead, yeah," I said. "Don't feel any sort of way about it. I'll be straight with you from here on out."

"What makes you think there's a 'here on out'?" asked Dash. That was one of my biggest problems with Dash. She tried her best to make it seem as if she was a gangster, a tough guy, but she was all bark. She truly thought she had some power in this little relationship of ours when she actually had none.

"Well, I assume you want your fifteen percent," I said. She turned to face me, glaring as she did.

"Whoa, whoa, I thought we agreed on an even split," said Dash. "Thirty-three a piece, right?"

"Minus our finder's fee, and the cost of teaching you," listed Spike. "And job security. Heisters aren't exactly a dime a dozen nowadays, and we're offering you a chance to learn about the business."

"Ergo, we'll be charging you to ensure that we don't lose too much if you go and run that big mouth of yours," I finished. "But, once you do enough jobs to prove your loyalty, the split will become more and more favorable."

"That's still major bullshit, just so you know," complained Dash. "3 grand isn't worth all that work."

"More like a grand and a half," I said. "We're going to need you to front us a couple hundred for the next job, and Spike only launders for free if you're actually in the crew."

"This is the easiest money I've ever made. Hells yes, I'm in the crew! I'm not trying to go anywhere, you hear?"

I smirked, satisfied with Dash and her admittedly weak performance. She wasn't able to wow me, but I didn't really expect her to on a job this basic. She would have the opportunity to grow in the next one.

"Spike, what do we have next?" I asked.

"Twilight, we just escaped! Not even escaped yet!" Spike was my best friend, and had been for years, so I knew that tone well. He was about to try and worm his way out of work.

"Spike… You did plan the next one, right?" I asked.

"Well, yeah, but…" I glared at him through the rearview mirror, my violet eyes locking with his emerald ones. "I have something lined up with some kind of historian, but… the mark is a museum. A good one, too, privately funded."

I couldn't contain my excitement.

"So, Ms. Dash," I said. "Are you ready to earn your 33%?" Rainbow didn't say anything, which was a first. I knew she wasn't happy with me, and she had some right to that. On the other hand… 33% of anything is a good pull, and even my new dopehead partner-in-crime knew that.

"What's the job?" she asked after a second of thought. I looked to Spike expectantly. Just as I guessed, he was annoyed.

"What do you guys know about vintage firearms?" he sighed. I smirked. Spike knew that I liked vintage anything, guns especially.

"Brief us when we get to base," I said. "We move out in… two weeks sounds reasonable, if this job is what I think it is."

"It is." Spike shook his head. "Promise me you'll behave."

"Oh, Spike, when have I ever not behaved?"

* * *

"And this was your first job with Ms. Dash?"

"Yes. Outside of a few practice trials, this was Dash's first heist."

"And you already trusted her enough to take her on something like the Museum?"

Twilight leaned forward, her wrists bound uncomfortably. The jury, her defense lawyer, the prosecutor, and everyone watching, they all stared at the criminal mastermind before them with intrigue. Ever since her apprehension, Twilight Sparkle had remained an enigma. She undercut her defense at almost every turn, incriminated herself several times, and flat out confessed to several accusations, many of which were baseless. She seemed intent on serving her sentence. What's more, she spoke of Rainbow Dash and Spike as if they were good friends, and not the traitors they obviously were. Twilight just seemed to be enjoying herself. She took her sweet time answering, toying with her audience for a bit.

"I did trust her, but trust had nothing to do with it," Twilight answered. "All Dash had to do was follow my directions, and, even though she proved herself incapable of doing even that, I still wasn't concerned."

"And why is that?" asked the prosecutor.

"Money is the root of all stupidity," answered Twilight. "Dash had a thing for stupid, self-destructive behavior. That's why she was so happy with her cocaine. She wasn't about to ruin the chance to further destroy her life, or to make money. Plus… She's stupid. My job depends on my ability to manipulate the stupid."

"I see. So, after the jewelry store, what did you do?"

"Me and Spike dropped her off at her place, dropped off the cash, and then we went to work."

"You mean you went to the safe house to plan?" asked the prosecutor. Twilight smiled. She loved being able to surprise people.

"No, no, no," chuckled Twilight. "I broke into Dash's house."


	2. Burglary

"I don't know about this…"

"I'm doing her a favor."

"You'll use that to justify anything."

"Remember when we stole 80 grand in gems and your justification was hunger?"

"Touche."

Spike didn't normally go on jobs with the crew. Dragons tend to attract attention, and that's exactly what we normally wanted to avoid. He normally drove the van, did repairs, plan things. He had connections. His channels ran deep. You know that corny line "I know a guy who knows a guy"? Well, Spike is that second guy. Most times, he was best kept behind the wheel or at a keyboard.

On the flipside, he had some of the stickiest fingers out there. As good of a manager as he was, he was an invaluable asset to have on certain jobs. He had a knack for break-ins and the similar. That's half the reason I asked him to help me break into Rainbow's house. The other half was that we hadn't spent much time together since Mythos first fell apart.

"I'm doing this with or without your help," I said. "So either head back home or start on the lock."

"Sure, mom," said Spike, rolling his eyes. He expertly maneuvered his pick through the keyhole, jiggling the pins into place.

"Well, technically, you are my baby dragon," I pointed out. I heard the faint click of the lock. "I found you as a hatchling, so, in the eyes of the law, you're probably considered my son."

"Just… Shut up and get what you came here for," said Spike with a hushed tone to his voice. "Which, by the way, remains a mystery to me." I silenced him by pressing a finger to my lips, then stepped through the back door.

The kitchen was a mess, unsurprisingly. Dirty dishes, grease stains on almost every surface, and cigarette butts littering the floor. I silently snaked through the mess and into the adjacent living room, Spike just behind me. Dash was asleep on the couch, facing the TV with cocaine clinging to her nose and her mouth open wide enough to send echos of her snoring throughout the house. I tapped my nose, then pointed to Dash, and finally the duffel bag over my shoulder. Spike nodded in understanding, then went around the room in search of coke.

I took the moment to survey the room, particularly a series of photos on the coffee table in front of Dash's couch. Each one displayed some scene of her and a girl a few years younger than her. At oldest, she was sixteen. She dressed like Dash did before I took her under my wing; baggy jeans, dingy tank top. She even seemed to have styled her hair in the same messy, windswept way. Only difference was the color, this girl deciding to go for a solid purple instead of the rainbow of colors. There were six pictures, and they were the only ones in the house. That meant that Dash really cared about this girl.

I put the photo down, then searched the room for cocaine. We found a bit, roughly $1,500 worth of blow. I was far from surprised, but still a bit annoyed. After checking upstairs and the basement, I motioned to Spike that we should start heading out. As we left, I saw the photos again. I tried to figure out how a trainwreck like Dash could ever have someone they care about that much. And, judging by the look on the other girl's face, the feeling was mutual.

"Medusa, let's go!" came Spike's whispered shout. I nodded, grabbing one of the photos on my way out. I bagged it and followed Spike out of the house and to the van.

* * *

After stowing away the coke at one of our drop points, Spike and I convened back at our main stronghold. It was a tiny little laundromat hidden away in a northwestern corner of Canterlot City. Terrifically unnoticeable and perpetually closed for maintenance, it was a modern day Nassau. The place where the magic happened. Once I walked into the laundromat, I headed for the back, to a large dryer that was marked with a sign labeled "out of order". Beneath the machine was a keyhole of sorts, except it was molded for Spike's claw. I had molds made of this "key" ages ago, so other crew members could get in when he was busy with other matters. That was back when there were other crew members, I suppose.

Spike unlocked the dryer, which let him push it up and on its side. Doing this revealed a hole with a ladder, down which we descended. The hole was about ten feet deep, and then it went into a straight hallway for another twenty five. It felt good to be home, especially after all that time of waiting for the heat to die down. We strolled down the long, many-doored hallway in silence. If Spike saw me steal the photo, he kept it to himself. He knew that he would find out in due time.

It didn't take us long to make it to the large double doors that separated the hall from the Planning Room. I pushed open the door and stepped into the circular room. On the furthest side from the door was a large screen that Spike used to show us maps and plans. In the center was a large table, with a map of Canterlot City etched into its surface. We called it the War Map. There were computers and phone lines on tables belting the wall, where Spike, our resident hacker, did his thing. There were also two couches near the back, and a table with a glass chess board. Spike and I often played while planning some of the longer jobs or after a successful heist. I fell onto the couch, gesturing to the board. Spike sat opposite of me, and moved his white pawn forward.

I imagined that it would take Dash no longer than thirty minutes to wake up. Ten more minutes to realize that her coke was gone. Another sixteen for Dash to walk over here, twelve if she ran. That would give me enough time for three to five games, depending on how focused Spike was. I never verbalized that prediction, because it only really mattered to me. Spike didn't need time to get his story together. He was loyal, loyal enough to be able to lie for me perfectly. He also knew better than to ask questions at a time like this. So, we played in silence, Spike trying his hardest to delay his inevitable defeat at a game he couldn't ever win.

In the middle of our fourth game, the door burst open, and Dash ran in, rambling incoherently.

"Check," I said, moving my piece and ignoring Rainbow.

"Yo! Twi! I'm freaking out right now!" Dash rushed over, her casual street clothes even messier than usual. "Someone broke into my house!" I turned from my game, almost knocking over the board in the process.

"What?" I demanded. "What did they take?"

"My coke!" She sounded like a child who had lost a toy. "I'm panicking here, this hasn't happened before! I don't know who it is, either!"

"Don't you live in the ghetto?" asked Spike. "Could've been some thug or something." Dash shook her head with some degree of certainty.

"Nah, my people know better," she said. "I have rep on that street. Nobody is breaking in without some serious consequences."

"Are you sure it wasn't someone from an enemy gang or something?" I asked. "Or maybe from your gang? The Bolts can't be happy that you left." Again, she shook her head.

"They don't even know I'm out yet. Seriously, Twi, this is freaking me out! Why is it that I get robbed as soon as I start rolling with you?"

"Oh boy. I didn't expect them to notice you yet," I mumbled.

"What?!"

I moved my rook across the board, then tipped Spike's king in victory. I stood up and started pacing, giving the illusion that I was deep in thought.

"I have some… business associates," I said carefully. "Since it's mutually beneficial that the Mythos Crew does well, they keep a very close eye on who we let in. They probably don't approve of who we decided to replace Moondancer with."

"The hell is Moondancer?"

"The original owner of that mask you like so much," said Spike. "Before you, we had two others. Lyra and Moondancer."

"What happened to them?" asked Dash. Perfect. She was forgetting about the coke.

"They took one for the team, got themselves arrested so Spike and I could escape," I said. "They haven't given us up, so Spike and I are trying to finance a breakout."

Rainbow Dash shook her head, trying to convince her brain to stop shutting down on her. I couldn't quite tell if her panic stemmed from drugs or just paranoia. Although, I suppose if someone does as much coke as Dash, everything stems from drugs in one way or another. Regardless, my ploy seemed to have worked. She was calming down.

"So you know who did this?" asked Dash.

"I know who probably did this, yes. But there's not a whole lot I can do about it," I said. "They're kinda untouchable. For now." Just as I predicted, Rainbow left that one alone. She had nothing to say and, for once, she kept her mouth shut. That was good for me. That meant she would be relatively easy to trick, at least for a while.

"Should I be scared?" she asked.

"Nah, these guys don't wanna hurt you," said Spike. "Just spook you. We'll deal with them in due time."

Dash sighed, then pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. She patted her pockets in search of a lighter. Spike spat a little plume of emerald fire, igniting the cigarette for her.

"Thanks," she said as she placidly puffed on her cancer stick. "Alright, since I'm here, let's get some shit done."

"Spike, the details, if you would," I requested. Spike nodded, then walked over to a laptop sitting on the map. He maneuvered through his files and opened up his planning documents, which were then displayed on the big screen.

"We're going to be stealing guns approaching two hundred years in age," said Spike. "So they're valuable. I estimate that one good rifle will be worth $1,600 to $3,000 a pop. Our guy, the Historian, will pay 250 for all the guns we can carry, but he says fees are negotiable."

"If they're worth $3,000 dollars a pop, why would we take 250?" asked Dash, which was quite possibly the dumbest question I've heard. "That's a hell of a loss."

"That's 250K, Rainbow," I sighed. "Split three ways, that's about $83,333. Some of that will have to go offshore, but it'll all be yours. Just not all at once." Dash spat out a swirl of smoke, then flicked her cigarette onto the floor.

"You had me at '250K'. When do we move in on this?" asked Rainbow, stamping out the cigarette. I grinned, then looked over Spike's shoulder at the map he had up.

"Well, I think we've put enough time and distance between us and the jewelry store," I said. "Three days to case, two to get our tools together, one to meet with the Historian… Next Sunday?"

"Monday," said Spike. "I wanna know the guard patrol. How do you want to do this?"

"I vote that we kick in the front door," tried Dash.

"Oh, that's cute," I chuckled. "You think you get a vote. We're doing this quietly. Spike, check the roof for access points."

He pulled the map to full screen, displaying it on the big screen. Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out a laser pointer. Spike pointed the red beam at a corner in the northwest of the building.

"Skylight here. We can pop it open and rappel down," said Spike. He pointed to the eastern part of the building. "Alternatively, we can go through a maintenance room on the roof. There's probably a way in from there." I peered a little closer at the screen.

"What about there?" I asked, pointing. Spike turned the laser to the area I was looking. "That looks like a ventilation shaft."

"It is. Fans and stuff are in the way, we can't get through it," said Spike. I smirked deviously.

"Perfect," I said. "That's our ticket in." The crew looked at me curiously.

"Uh… You got a plan for those blades?" asked Dash.

"They're not a problem."

"I dunno, Twi," said Spike. "Fast-moving pieces of sharp metal blocking our entrance is kinda a big problem, I think."

"Oh, it is. But that's not our entrance." I grinned widely. "We're moving in on Sunday, and we're going right through the front door. Just like Dash said."

* * *

"Why the ventilation? Why not the skylight or the maintenance room?"

"They're imperfect solutions. Easy to get in but hard to get out. Plus, if we rapelled down through the skylight, a guard could catch us with our pants down."

"I see. So how did you manage to get past the fans without disabling them?"

Twilight laughed fondly to herself. Of the many heists she had pulled in her years, the Museum was one of her absolute favorites. She always had a thing for silent jobs, to sneak in and out without anyone even knowing she was there. To her, that was the epitome of theft. To swipe what she wanted right from beneath the owner's nose. It was exhilarating.

"That was never the plan," said Twilight. "Going in through the vents created more problems than it solved."

"But you told Ms. Dash that they were your ticket in." The prosecutor had a stiff, superior air to him, as if he knew something that Twilight didn't. Twilight was confident that this wasn't the case.

"Yes. It was our ticket in." Twilight leaned forward. "But you don't get into a theater through a ticket. That's just what gets the door open."


	3. The Museum

"You're being unreasonable."

"I hired you for a job, a job that I will be paying you handsomely for. Do not get greedy."

"Just the one rifle is all I want. Take it out of my cut."

"Absolutely not! You do as you're told, get what we have discussed, and that is all!"

I glared at the Historian from behind my mask angrily. If I wasn't on the job, I might've punched him in his stupid little goatee. He peered at me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, his beady little golden eyes looking through me in search of a soul. Dash stood just behind me, twitching nervously. This was her first run in with criminals other than me and Spike, and she was under a lot of pressure not to ruin the job. I could understand her anxiety, especially because I was in the process of ruining the job.

Our disagreement was happening in the Historian's massive mansion, inside his extremely impressive library. As a librarian myself, I could, and did, appreciate a good collection of literature when I saw it. I made note of some of the dusty, unloved volumes for later. His disregard for his books disgusted me. I could tell just by looking at them that he hadn't opened them outside of once or twice when he first got them. I decided that I'd probably come and steal some of his books at a later date.

For now, I was focused on getting my hands on a rifle. What irritated me the most was how relatively worthless the rifle was. It was, compared to some of the other pieces he wanted me to get, quite a bit on the lower end of the pool. It wouldn't be much loss for him to let me keep the gun, but he was being… difficult.

"I think I'm being quite fair with what I expect to be paid," I said. "I could be charging north of half a mil for what you want from me, but I'm cutting you a deal out of respect. The least you could do is let me keep one of the guns."

"Ms. Medusa, do not try to pull the wool over my eyes." The Historian had no weapon, but there were eight guards within shooting range. Either he had an insane amount of trust in me or he greatly underestimated what I was capable of. "I have been more than generous enough to offer you a bonus for extra items. Do not confuse my kindness for weakness."

"One rifle is all I want. I am willing to take a third off of the price, a third, just for this one rifle," I said. "I was under the impression that you were a businessman. Negotiate."

"That's where you're wrong, Ms. Medusa." The Historian reached into the breast pocket of his very expensive suit (which made my two-piece seem like a cheap sweater) and pulled out a cigar. "I am not a businessman. I am a collector, and I am the boss. I do not like it when those who work for me cannot follow instructions."

He gestured for one of his goons, who came up and cut the end of his cigar. He offered the Historian a lighter, which he used to ignite the end.

"If you cannot obey, then perhaps our relationship should come to an early end." The greedy old man didn't communicate his threat with any sort of malice in his voice. He just sounded as if he was getting tired of talking to me, and that he would love for me to roll over and do as I was told.

Behind my mask, I smirked spitefully. The only differences between me and the Historian was age and career choice.

"If you're sure I can't change your mind…" I turned my back on my employer. "We have nothing more to discuss. You'll have your guns by Tuesday at the latest, depending on circumstances. Have my money ready before then, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Ms. Medusa. I would be happy to," said the Historian. "I await your return. Perhaps by then you'll learn to be more like your partner." I could just imagine the smarmy, sleazy, patronizing look on his face. "Silent. Obedient."

"Only time will tell, sir," I said. "Apollo, let's go."

Dash didn't say anything until after we left the mansion. She didn't seem to understand what went down, but she could tell I was irritated. Still, she managed to keep her questions inside until we were in the van.

"What happened back there?" she asked, pulling off her mask. I turned the key, then put my foot to the gas. I grabbed my burner phone from my pocket, tossed it to Rainbow, then set off down the street and away from the mansion.

"Call Spike," I said, ignoring her question. She dialed the number, then put it on speaker. Spike answered, swiftly and silently. "We spoke to the Historian. We're ready when you are."

"Oh, that sounds like an angry Twilight," noted Spike. He was at the Museum, dealing with some loose ends. "Didn't get your guns?"

"The dude is a prick. I want one gun, and that's all," I complained. "It's not even especially valuable, not in a traditional sense."

"Then why do you want it?" asked Dash.

"Because some people who aren't idiots appreciate history." I admit, I probably shouldn't have snapped at RD like that, but I was angry. "You know? History? That class you slept in, skipped, ignored, or otherwise jerked yourself through? Yeah, some of us care about that sort of thing. Don't worry your pretty, little, empty head about it."

"Wow. Someone's pissy," said Dash. "Is it Shark Week or what?"

"Oh, don't mind her, Rainbow," said Spike. I could almost feel the smirk on his face. "Twilight's just not used to not getting what she wants."

"That's because I normally just steal it. But that's not going to be an option just yet." I tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Stupid old man…"

"Okay, I'm legit lost here," said Dash, not for the last time. "The Historian is what? Sixty? How old are you exactly, cause I started thinking you're mid-fifties or something."

"Forty-seven, but glad to know that I look good for my age," I sarcastically remarked. "Spike, do you have everything you need?"

"Sure do. Heading back home now. I gotta say, Twi. This plan is…"

"Brilliant?"

"I was gonna say 'cliche', but whatever helps you sleep at night," he joked. "In all seriousness, this is strangely simple."

"I don't feel like getting flashy tonight. I just want to get the guy his guns, so I can steal them back," I said. I reached into Rainbow's breast pocket and stole a cigarette. "Dash, light this." She did as she was told, and I stuck the cig in my mouth, puffing thoughtfully.

Only difference was age and career choice.

* * *

We did one last bout of casing, which carried us into the night. It was amazing what a simple Ventilation Installation & Repair decal could do to my sweet blue Chariot. To the untrained eye (and a few that were trained) we looked like a legitimate repair business. We even had the uniforms. Spike had done a good job of parking us in a place where other vehicles seldom moved from. Movement draws attention, and we needed everyone around us to be just as still as we were.

"We good?" asked Rainbow. "I'm itching to get moving."

"Geez, smoke a cig or something," I said, ironically impatient. "Hydra should be back soon." A short second later, my burner rang. I answered it and put it to my ear. "Canterlot Ventilation Repair, how may I help you?"

"The perimeter checks out," said Spike. "Head to the roof, I'll pull the van closer while you set up."

I disconnected the line and threw the phone into the glovebox. Gesturing to Dash, I hopped to the back and grabbed my supplies: my standard issue duffel bag, which held my mask, cable ties, guns, and other goodies, and another bag with the materials I would need. Dash grabbed two bags herself, though one was rather awkward to carry. It was a roll of thin, metallic thermal insulation, and Dash had to sling it under her arm uncomfortably in order to carry it.

"So, how long do I have to carry shit for you guys?" she whispered.

"Slow your roll there, starter pack," I teased. "Someone has to do the heavy lifting. Now hush."

We sat two blocks south of the museum, an area consisting mostly of businesses that were closed by now. It was nothing for us to sneak down the street and to the rear of the museum, belted with a large, barb-wired fence. The gate was padlocked, obviously, so I dropped my bag, masked up, and went digging in search of my lockpicking kit.

"I got this," said Dash. I looked up to see her aiming her suppressed 12-gauge at the lock. I grabbed the gun and yanked it out of her hands.

"Are you insane, or just stupid?" I demanded. "You can't just shoot a shotgun at a lock!"

"It's silenced," said Dash with a shrug. I swear, it's like this girl wanted me to kill her.

"No, it's suppressed. There's a difference." I handed the gun back. "And that's not even the real problem. The problem is that the real world isn't a movie! You shoot that lock, I guarantee that not only will the lock not break completely, but the parts that do break will end up flying into your face." I shoved Dash away and started picking the lock. In about thirty seconds, I managed to pop it open and slip it in my pocket.

"You're such a stiff, boss," scoffed Dash.

"Get up the goddamn ladder," I said flatly. We proceeded forward to a ladder that led to the roof, for maintenance purposes. I led Dash up the dented, rusty red ladder and onto the gravelly rooftop. I peered around, picking out the nearest ventilation exhaust. Dash noticed it, made her way to it, and dropped her bag to dig out the insulation sheet. She pulled out the thin plane of metal, which had a small hole in it, taping it to the exhaust fan.

"How is this going to work?" asked Dash. "Isn't the whole point of these things to keep air moving out?"

"Hydra reversed the spin of the fans," I said. "They hardly push any air out at all. But that's also why we have that on there." I pulled open my secondary bag, pulling out a steel canister and plastic tube. After connecting one end to the canister, I took the roll of tape from Dash and used it to secure the other end of the tube to the hole in the metal sheet. I grabbed two small respirator masks and tossed one to my companion. When our respirators were secured beneath our heist masks, I turned a valve at the top of the canister, flooding the vents, shaft, and, eventually, entire museum, with a gas of my own composition. I glanced at my watch, then shut off the gas after ten minutes. We packed up, slid down the ladder, and headed around the other side of the building. I stopped by the van, which was now missing its decal, and deposited the materials in the back.

Finally, everything was set. The real heist could begin. By the time we made it into the building, the poor bastards who had the misfortune of inhaling my K.O. gas were bound and gagged with duct tape in a corner. Standing opposite of the front door was my favorite dragon, donning the yellowish-brown mask of the Hydra. Its face reassembled an arrowhead in shape, layered with faint scales all down its surface. The big, shining eyes of the mask were just the same shade of green as Spike's.

"Gas is all clear by now," he said, twirling his respirator around his finger. "Your little cocktail worked like a charm, Medusa. Out like lights." Dash and I pulled off our respirators and slipped them into our bags.

"Lead the way, Hydra," I said, grinning from behind my mask. "Where to?"

"Next room over."

I practically ran to the next room, to the cases of beautiful, historic, intricate, antique weapons. There were thirteen cases of guns, only seven of which marked by the Historian. The other five were fair game. We could keep them, or sell them piecemeal to my client. Unfortunately, the one rifle I wanted was not of the five cases I could keep.

"Why do you want this gun, anyway?" asked Spike, picking the case that contained the rifle in question. It was a gorgeous, glinting little rifle. I could see it from where I was, the intricate etching in the side, the engraving of "StB" on the stock. Simply beautiful.

"It was owned by a man named Starswirl. Just over 100 years ago, he headed the crew that would eventually become Mythos," I explained, working on the next case. "He was my grandfather."

"Cool," said Dash. "So it's like a memento, huh?"

"Yeah. Get over here and start bagging, please." My gaze lingered as Spike raised the dusty, ancient rifle that I so desired and lowered it into the bag.

"What's with you, Medusa?" asked Spike. "I didn't peg you as overly sentimental. Especially since the guy got caught."

"I only want the gun because of how he got caught," I said. I might've explained more, had I not heard the click of a gun behind me.

"Drop your weapon, buddy." I turned, ready to fire at whoever was behind me. I was met with the end of a cerulean revolver levelled at my forehead. I froze, noticing that my assailant had another gun in his hand, this one aimed at Spike.

"Crap." Spike lowered his gun gently. I did the same, formulating a way out of the sticky situation I found myself in.

"And you, rookie, I suggest you stay where you are," said the newcomer. "I'm only getting paid for the leader, but I've got no problem spending a bullet on you for insurance."

"Drop the gun, Apollo," I said."And nobody do anything stupid."

"Let's not blow this out of proportion," said our attacker, a stupid grin on his smug little face. I finally got a chance to look at the guy; His skin was dark, contrasting starkly with his bright white hair. His eyes were somewhere in between, a cold, calm steel.

"What's your name, son?" I asked.

"I'll tell you mine when I hear yours, ma'am," he replied.

"Well, considering at least two of us will be dead in a few minutes anyway, my name is Twilight. Yours?"

"Silver."

"Dash, I need you to lower that gun now," I said, not taking my eyes off of my opponent. "I have things under control." I heard Rainbow drop her gun to the ground from somewhere to my left. "So, Silver. What brings you here?"

"I'm getting paid to murder you," said Silver. "Hope you don't mind."

"Why?"

"Well, at a guess, I'd say you made an enemy." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spike slowly raise his mask. Instantly, I knew what he intended to do.

"I've been doing this a long time, kid. I've made a lot of enemies," I said. "But which one is paying you?"

"Don't know. Never asked his name. It's rude in this business, y'know?" Silver grinned. "Some history buff. Golden eyes, horn-rimmed glasses. The douchiest goatee I've ever seen. He had a great book collection, there were a few pieces that I really wanted, but..."

"Who does this sound like?" asked Spike rhetorically.

"The Historian?" asked Dash. "Why would he want us dead?"

"Working on it, rookie. Give me a second to think," I said.

"Sorry, ma'am, but your seconds are running out," he said. "I'm going to count backwards from three, and then I'm going to pull the trigger. 3."

I spared a glance at Spike, his mask resting on his nose. Silver still hadn't noticed.

"2."

"Alright, let's get this over with," I sighed. Spike inhaled deeply, then blew out a huge plume of emerald flames between me and Silver. I ducked under the flames, grabbed him by the wrist, and wrestled him to the ground. I kicked the guns to Spike then, for good measure, planted my foot to Silver's shoulder. I jerked his arm forcefully until I was met with that sickly satisfying POP!

"Son of a bitch!"

"Alright, boy, I dislocated your shoulder," I said. "Hopefully, my next step is to kill you."

"Whoa, boss! That was pretty badass!" cheered Dash. I rolled my unseen eyes.

"You, finish gathering the guns, then bring them over to the Historian. Me and Silver are gonna go for a little walk." I beckoned for a gun. Spike grabbed one of Silver's revolvers and tossed it to me.

"Damn it, this hurts!" moaned Silver. I grabbed him by the dislocated arm and wrenched him to his feet, threatening him with his own gun.

"I said walk, but do you have a car?" I asked my new hostage. "I'd rather not have to walk all the way to wherever I decide to bury you."

"You're not actually gonna kill him, are you?" asked Rainbow. "I mean, that's kinda cold, don't you think?"

"If you don't have the stomach for dirty work, I suggest you get a real job, Ms. Dash," I said, completely dodging her question. "Car. Now."

I marched the hitman right out of the museum, keeping my new gun trained on him the whole time. He led me down the block to an inconspicuous silver sedan. I pulled open the passenger door and shoved him in. Still aiming my gun, I walked around to the driver's side and slid in next to him.

"Could you make this any more humiliating?" asked Silver. "You're going to kill me in my own car with my own gun?"

"I'm not going to kill you. Not if you do as I say."

"Well, I like not being dead, so shoot." His eyes widened. "You know, in retrospect, that was a poor choice of words."

"Listen. The guy who hired you to kill me? He also hired me to steal those guns," I said. "Which means he has no issue with killing his own guys. If he thinks I'm disposable…"

"Then so am I. Alright, boss lady. What do you suggest?" I grinned.

"Follow my directions to the letter and you get those books you wanted."

* * *

"Mate," said Spike, tipping my king in disbelief. "Holy hell, did I just beat you at chess? I should buy a lottery ticket."

"Huh. Guess I'm still reeling from last night," I said with a shrug. "It's been quite a while since we've been in a situation like that." I heard Rainbow unlock the entrance upstairs and start down the ladder.

"You sure she should be here for this?" asked Spike. "I don't know if she's ready for something like this."

"Something like what?"

"Well, we're going to ice the Historian, aren't we?"

I remained silent, listening to the approaching footsteps of our newest heister. After a short few seconds, Rainbow pushed open the doors to the Planning Room, holding a large rectangular box in her arms.

"Uh… This was outside of the laundromat," said Dash. "I figured you would want to check it out."

"Thanks," I said. I crossed the room and took the box from her, tearing open one end. I reached in and slowly pulled out an old, dusty, elegant rifle. My thumb traced the swirls carved into the body, then the letters "StB" in the stock.

"Wait, what?" Spike stared incredulously. "How did you get Starswirl's gun?"

"With my feminine wiles," I said with a chuckle. "Also, a revolver."

"Did you…"

"Let's get to work, gang. Spike, what do we have up for the next one?"

I hardly listened as Spike stowed his questions away and began listing off jobs. I was too busy thinking about where to hang my new rifle.

"Why didn't you kill Silver?"

"That would be a very short-sighted solution. He could still prove useful."

"Useful in what way?"

"Silver was more than just a hitman. He handled problems. If something came up, it would be very advantageous to have someone like him on the payroll."

"I see. So, what happened next?"

Twilight's grin faltered for the first time. As far as she could tell, the next part was the beginning of the end. The situation wasn't a constant drop, but the decay began a few weeks after the run in with the Historian.

"After that, we laid low for a bit," said Twilight. "Spike wanted to do a few little things, but Dash wanted a big heist. I agreed with Dash. So, while we waited for a big heist to make itself known, we practiced and we studied."

"Studied what?" asked the prosecutor.

"Each other."

"Interesting. You mentioned that you only wanted Starswirl's rifle because of how he was apprehended."

"Right, of course. The original Mythos Crew consisted of Starswirl, Clover, Meadowbrook, and my grandfather's best friend, Discord," Twilight explained. "They were in the middle of the biggest score of their lives. Just as they were getting away, Clover, Meadow, and Discord decided to cut out one share. My grandfather was shot in the back, with his own gun, by his best friend and left to die."

"And you wanted the rifle why?"

"To serve as a reminder not to make the same mistake that Starswirl did." Twilight leaned forward tiredly. "It served as a reminder not to trust anyone."


End file.
